


Oblatio Vitae

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Can't Help Myself With Biblical Themes, M/M, No Clue When This Takes Place, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Slight violence?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: The last lingering tendrils of incense fell upon the floor and writhed as they faded from existence, diffusing their perfume through the empty room and filling the grand hall with its heady scent that called for a few final gestures of worship.***After Melkor's unholiest of liturgies, Mairon is granted audience.





	Oblatio Vitae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgause1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/gifts).



The last lingering tendrils of incense fell upon the floor and writhed as they faded from existence, diffusing their perfume through the empty room and filling the grand hall with its heady scent that called for a few final gestures of worship.

The nave was emptied and the towering columns stood as sentinels for the hallowed ground, waiting for the next unholy procession and vehement liturgy, their smoothed marble armour missing the blazing heat of that large sacrificial fire. The grounds about the choir were bestrewn with ashes from that previous cleansing, and the sinister altar- the size and decadence of a royal sarcophagi- was stained so deep a red so as to be a glossy jet-black and all around it the last of the candles burned low and lit crimson highlights on the wet stone.

As the last licks of fire from that profane ritual died down to thin wisps of smoke that mingled with the final breath of the incense, another light from the darkly lit ambulatory could be seen, glowing like coals and alive with some daemonic pulse. One soul, it seemed, had yet to commune and was granted the most privileged of audiences. . .

Within that intimate chamber lay the god incarnate, the Lord of All and Giver of Freedom; and near to Him was the fiery origin of that sanguine radiance. Languorously the Lord draped Himself across the silken sheets and reclined as spirit of naturally easy power, unashamed in His nudity, His eyes which were deep wells of pride and which alighted upon that Maiarin flame-spirit in a new passion.

In sinful supplication, the Maia trails his scorching gaze upon the long lines of His avatar, within the pools of silvery shadow which painted the flesh that was turned away from his divine light, along the muscle which shifted under white silk and spoke of a barely-contained violence, across the angles that He had carved from matter and which now rested indolently from the maddened frenzy of the hot blood spilt in His name, from the offerings of honey and manna, and from the pleasure of watching His Maia burn with a similar ecstasy.

Mairon kelt now, down on the foot of the bed on a folded counterpane of thick beast-fur. His robes he let fall to the floor in heaps of ivory embroidered with bright yellow-gold and spattered with gore and ash, and he bent down in supreme reverence so that his face pressed into the sheets before His lounging from. His hair fell in copper waves along the sheets, seeming like fluvial magma which the Mighty held back from stroking, waiting almost impatiently to hear His Maia’s prayer and tried by the anticipation of seeing that look in His consort’s eyes which made Him _ache._

His Maia’s ever-devoted Fëa caressed His noble form whilst he bowed, carefully curling around His shoulders, snaking down the taper of His hips and encircling His desire. He continued to swirl around Him in a haze of aurum, in liquid topaz and pale ruby and all the colours of a spring daybreak, praising the glory of His Lord with faint susurrations of His severe wintery beauty, of His power which filled him like wine, of that Theme which- with a sinfully potent note- enchanted him and which he sought to compliment with that half-breathless, half-moaned song of his own fashioning. His Fëa sung of an insatiable craving to put to action those words of highest praise, so transmute his yearnings into his Lord’s flesh. His Fëa-light grew now more brilliant, more bold, and spread itself upon Him like a coverlet of flame.

Melkor did not answer, not wanting to break the smooth sensuality of His Maia’s entreaty with the low rumble of His own throaty voice: not to fracture the low-purring static of the clouds with sounds of thunder. Instead He sent a whip of dark matter across his back like He knew he loved, letting it sting and leave a thin line of carnelian across the lithe, trembling ridge of his spine and savoring the ragged, desperate moan it freed from a voice rich like caramel. He was restless, and He was now regretful that He did not possess His Maia during the liturgy on that newly-slicked altar.

Mairon was feverish, and at last sat upright, unashamed before the piercing rent of his Lord’s gaze and those places He lingered. He was an offering, an appeasement, and he vibrated with the indulgence it brought him, low and thick in his groin and which permeated to his very Fëa in shocks of lustful red. It felt like the bands of gold he wore kept his Hröa from bursting in some sudden eruption, the jewelry becoming hot with nearness to his core and the jewels seeming to glow from within their polished facets. For the moment he relished his role as the vassal and the arousal it brought, but his Lord’s gaze was not the only that pampered, not the only that could peer through the most hidden of longings like glass.

He crawled slowly across the sheets towards His elegant recline, the gems and gold-disks of his necklaces ringing like little wind-chimes. On his hands and knees he bent down slowly to kiss the niveous contour of one of those marble-hewn thighs, following those slopes of hard muscle to the sensual line of His iliac which seemed to guide him back down but which the Maia brazenly ignored in favor of kissing again along the span of His chest. He lavished with particular attention those spots which, in some unconscious fancy, he seemed drawn to- the valleys of Melkor’s abdominals which he traced with his tongue and the rise of His pectorals which he lined with bruises from his teeth.

Melkor groaned deeply, and that heavenly noise resonated within his bones and made him quiver as if the sound ran right through him, used him as a medium for its rich baritone. He flushed bright with its murky lust and ran his warm hands along the coolness of His skin as he shifted to lay not but a lip-brush away from Him, molding his hand to follow along the trail he just left, delighting in the tremors of his Lord’s muscles as he scraped by with just his fingertips and the points of his nails. He rolled and rocked his tongue over one nipple and played with the other between his fingers and his hot palms, and let his moan send reverberations along Melkor’s flesh when His pale hands darted between the flames of his hair and cupped his skull close to His chest as he continued to spoil those pretty pearls.

But Melkor was changeable as the seas and ever eager for His nirvana, and soon the oily dark of His own Fëa prodded at His Maia, tugging on those strands of fire and slipping itself between his legs to stroke him to further action. Mairon leaned up to kiss Him savagely when an especially motivated shadow struggled indignantly against his most secret ingress. And his Lord’s kiss was as He was: lips softer than the center of a rose parted to needle-fangs which weaved sensations of fierce seraphic pleasure and a throb which eased to a livid ache. The Vala grasped his narrow hips and ground into them the manifest of His arousal, one hand moving now to one of his shapely legs to sling around His hip and the other to possessively clutch at his small feminine waist.

Mairon struggled against His haste, dragging his body in delicious friction along His and forcing Him supine against the sheets. His Lord’s raspy voice sent through him a bolt of dangerous power as he rest on top of Him, straddling His hips like an animal, pushing back against His erection with the curve of his ass so that his necklaces jingled again and seemed to call the pious to prayer. Mairon was inebriated with his insolence- he had, after all, no offering but his own body, his own soul. But that unlight in his Lord’s eyes. . . he wanted Him, feral and drunk with blessed desire to overtake him, to subdue the waves of wroth that beat the shores of his soul and did nothing to slake his lust.

Melkor growled such that His Fëa beat the air and sent titillating shocks along his flesh, such that His grip bruised him and His nails were as barbs, drawing fine pricks of garnet on bronzed skin. In but a lightning’s flash they were switched and the Vala held him down about the wrists, His strong, quivering thighs bracketing his own, preventing his escape. Mairon squirmed with the rising crest of the fantasy he so surreptitiously sought. Above him the Mighty Arising, stronger and more ancient than the tallest of mountains with a lust deeper than the mantle of the earth. . . His body a temple of terror and passion, the sensual swell of His lips a scathing bite and His eyes dizzy with tempestuous _need._

The air crackled around them and the black shadows gathered about Mairon’s neck and wrists to keep him still as his Master flipped him and anointed him in the sweet nectar that was a gift from those petty worshippers. His Lord bit his shoulder as He spread the ambrosial oil along his lower back and dipped down with His fingers betwixt. Some of those incensed Fëa-tendrils now pulled his hair harshly so that his neck strained and his moans wrenched like ripped cloth while others teased his hips that bucked into the thick air.

His Lord leaned in close to him, using His teeth to tug on those studs and rings that pierced his flesh. His fingers circled him firmly, and Mairon’s throat went dry with an orison of the most excellent kind. Melkor’s breath was hot in his ear and he thought he would go mad at that ghost of a touch.

“Is this not what thou wanted, Maia, to goad thy Master to frightful dominance? Yea, thine intentions I know well, clever spirit! But how may I seek to punish thee, thou whom seekest punishment? Thou art fortunate that thine Master’s desires lie with thee and that thine impertinence is most ravishing- but of this, thou already know well.”

Mairon whimpered at His voice and the tone which burned and warmed like whisky, a dark amber which drugged him. Prone before Him, trembling and exposed to His gaze, to His Fëa, to His Hröa, he could but wait for Him to take what He would ruthlessly claim like all else. His slender fingers slipped into him, and His actual hand knotted in his hair now, pushing him into the sheets so his cries were muffled. His overbearing Power kept him from reaching his pleasure as it assaulted the bars through his nipples and spread wide his legs to cradle him.

Melkor laughed and it fell sinfully from His lips as His Maia pushed back against Him in an anguished plead to take him, and rebuked him with a sharp slap that immediately flourished his skin. But just as his Lord said, such anguish He wanted also, and his Lord was impatient.

He released his hair and entered him in one smooth motion, holding still his hips. The Maia had no words for that concoction of supernal and carnal admission, that fervid claim. His Lord suffused him with His soul, soaked the inferno of his Fëa with a veil of inky black, and his flesh had ached to harbor Him, to be used for the most consecrated of rituals such that only He could satiate. A shaky wail left Mairon's lips as Melkor thrust in earnest, voracious.

He cried his devotion into the sheets, pled his god to release him from this maddening ardor if but for a moment of pervading, spasming bliss. And Melkor was not so cruel to deny such lovely words, to bestow His favor so heavily upon His most precious gem.

Ashes fell from the Maia’s eyes and to the sheets and Melkor was crowned in fire and ice His uncontrollable Power. What love drove Him to such pleasure? What alchemy occurred between their Fëar that drove them to such heights? What was it about this Maia that bound them so, that made Him feel such intensity like He could with none else? Was it really Him who held sway, or was it His Maia whom He trusted never to abuse His devotion? O! How enslaved He was to those eyes, those fires, the slender beauty of his body! Did he know He would surrender all to him? Did he know what it was He felt, more than this burning, this flame that did not destroy but which created?

Mairon’s moans blurred to a continuum, a thin, shaky sob as he clawed his way to his pleasure and claimed it, drawing his Lord with him in the roiling sea of their rapture. The seams of their material existence frayed and unraveled, and they seemed as one, gold embroidered with black and red with blue bleeding to a scandalous violet. Even the choirs of that earlier ritual could not compare.

And who could tell which was the god, and which was the acolyte?

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had no clue what I had in mind when writing this, but I can't say I'm disappointed, haha, I guess my muse wanted to write something smutty! >:D And there's something too tempting about adding so many words associated with religion, its just so. . . sumptuous! And it suits them.  
> Oblatio Vitae- I chose this as the title because I thought its meaning, "The Free Offering Of One's Life," was perfect to describe that extreme devotion I feel they have, that blind faith and surrender or sacrifice along with the willingness they have to draw their own blood and the blood of others for their "cause" or Discord. . .  
> But seriously, this one is for you, Morgause1, and all your beautiful, sensual, dark writings (of which your latest work was an inspiration) and also for all of the love you give to my other works! <3 I know you like it a little more edgy and I hope this had that bite to it, as you know I'm more partial to fluff! Either way I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it! <3  
> ***


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